


Growing Teeth

by earlybloomingparentheses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Biting, Canon Divergent, F/F, Gender-bending via Metamorphmagus, Other, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Rough Sex, Self-Discovery, genderqueer tonks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 14:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20098951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlybloomingparentheses/pseuds/earlybloomingparentheses
Summary: Fleur shaves off all her hair. Tonks changes pronouns, and some other things too. It turns out that Fleur's got a sharper bite than Tonks thought. And Tonks likes people with a sharp bite.





	Growing Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged both F/F and "Other" due to some shifting of Tonks' gender identity during the story. Thanks to FlonksFest for inspiring me to finally try out this pairing.

Three weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, Fleur shaves her head.

In a shop, as Fleur is holding a round red apple in her hand, staring at the shine on its waxy surface, feeling the rumble of grief deep in her belly, a Muggle man whistles at her. When she looks up, blinking, he leers at her. She drops the apple into her basket and turns away. It isn’t until she returns home to the empty cottage she’d shared with Bill until their split six months before that the anger shoots through her, electric and galvanizing. The sensation is physical: sharp heat rising rapidly in her chest. She turns to the mirror and stares at her perfect porcelain face and silvery hair that, despite all Fleur has been through, falls as gently around her shoulders as if she has just stepped out of a photoshoot for one of those glossy French magazines in which witches coyly bat their eyelashes at the viewer and share makeup tips. Fleur stares, and she barely recognizes herself.

An hour later, her hair is gone.

Three weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, Tonks turns her hair a hundred different shades before realizing that it isn’t her hair that’s the problem.

She lets it fade into a subdued bluish-black and stares at herself in the mirror.

That morning, Remus, who had come over for breakfast, had looked at her silently for a long time—such a long time she began to worry that he was going to make some sort of declaration—before saying quietly, “You ought to let yourself do what you want now. After everything.”

She had bristled, disliking being told what to do by an ex-lover, disliking being told what to do by one of her closest friends, disliking above all that some part of her, buried deep, strained towards Remus’ words as if it understood they were meant for it.

Tonks has always done what she wants. It is the law by which she lives. It’s what broke past Remus’ self-constructed barriers of fear and internalized loathing and brought them together. It’s what saved them when Remus insisted he wanted her to have the baby when both of them knew that all their instincts were screaming, _run. _It’s what salvaged their friendship after Tonks had the procedure, after they split.

It’s what prompted her to wear her hair purple at thirteen, pitch black at sixteen, and a shockingly unflattering pumpkin orange at twenty. Tonks looks now into the mirror, at her combat boots, at her ripped jeans that her mother has often sighed over. She has always done what she wants. Hasn’t she?

She looks at herself a little longer. Then she pulls off her shirt and unhooks her bra. She stares at her chest.

She cups her tits in her hands. Remus had never spent much time with them. Her girlfriend before him, a Ravenclaw named Briony who’d been the first person to see Tonks fully naked, had loved them, loved rubbing and sucking at them. Tonks had never really liked that. It wasn’t Briony’s fault. Tonks had never said anything, hadn’t really known she could.

Tonks hates bras, and the way her breasts weigh her down and throw her off balance.

She concentrates on that little place in her brain where her Metamorphmagus powers live and, for the first time in her life, shrinks her tits until her chest is as flat and smooth as Remus’.

Nobody likes Fleur’s new look. Shopkeepers eye her smooth shaved head with confusion and men on the street shake their heads in distaste. Her sister raises her eyebrows when she sees what Fleur has done and asks what the hell she’d been thinking. Her mother actually weeps.

Fleur takes a vicious pleasure in all of it.

All her life people have looked at her and made her feel uncomfortable. Now they look at her and _she _makes _them _feel uncomfortable.

Fleur buys a pair of baggy overalls and considers piercing her nose. The flashbacks from the Battle of Hogwarts don’t stop. But she does feel changed, and for the better.

Remus hugs Tonks tight when he sees her. Her colleagues at the Ministry take awhile to notice; she clocks their realizations one by one. Nobody says anything bad, though a few of them look uncomfortable whenever they have to talk to her now.

Sometimes strangers do a double take, especially when Tonks is wearing defiantly tight shirts under which there is nowhere to hide a pair of breasts. Sometimes their eyes flicker downwards, probably (hopefully) subconsciously.

Tonks keeps her cunt. She likes it. Likes how smooth she is now from her chest all the way down to the place between her legs. She does narrow her hips just a little. She runs into things a lot less often.

Sometimes when strangers’ eyes linger on her too long, if Tonks is out at a cafe table or on a bench in a park, she lets her knees fall wide open, daring them to look.

They run into each other outside Madame Malkin’s. Tonks needs new robes to fit her chest. Fleur wants underwear without any lace.

“Holy _shit_!” Tonks steps closer. “Fleur?”

“Hello, Tonks.”

Tonks stares at her shaved head in delight. “You look fucking incredible.”

Fleur, startled, lets out her first genuine laugh in weeks.

“Thank you,” she says. “You might be the first one who thinks so.”

“I don’t know how the hell that’s possible,” Tonks says. “Sounds like you’ve been hanging around the wrong crowd.”

“I’m starting to think so.”

They eye each other for a long moment.

“Want to get a drink?” Fleur asks.

“I really do.”

They sit in a corner of The Three Broomsticks at two p.m. and get tipsy on a bottle of pink wine.

“I’m tired of girly things,” Fleur confides in Tonks, “but I still love pink wine.”

“Well, it’s delicious,” Tonks says. She takes a long drink. “It tastes like juice.”

Fleur snorts. The sound is anything but delicate. “Are you a lightweight?”

Tonks looks around, as if she’s about to share a secret, then leans in and whispers, “Yes.”

Her breath is sweet and tickles’ Fleur’s ear. “I’d never have guessed,” Fleur says.

“Good.”

“I was joking!”

Tonks makes a face, then sighs. “I bet you hold your drink reaaaally well.”

Fleur stares at her. “You’re the first person who’s ever guessed that right.”

“I told you,” Tonks says, waggling her finger, “you’ve been hanging around with the wrong crowd.”

Tonks drinks two glasses and Fleur drinks four and it evens out and neither of them get much more than giggly. They wash the bottle down with water and some extremely greasy fried potatoes and when they’re feeling a little more sober, Tonks says to Fleur, “You’ve noticed, haven’t you?”

Fleur tilts her head. She nods.

“Well?”

Tonks isn’t exactly sure what she’s asking. It has something to do with the way that Fleur’s fingers are sitting so close to Tonks’ on the table, and the speculative look in Fleur’s eye.

“Well,” says Fleur slowly, “is there anything I need to know? Should I call you—is ‘she’ still right?”

Tonks hadn’t been expecting that.

“I haven’t thought—” she says, and then stops abruptly. She _has_ thought.

“Can you call me…can you try…’they?’”

Fleur nods. “Of course.”

Tonks feels—she feels—no. _They _feel. They don’t know what they feel. Off kilter.

Fleur puts a few Galleons on the table and stands.

“Well?” she asks. Tonks looks up at her. “Can I take you home?”

Fleur kisses like someone who is just learning to kiss. Tonks knows that isn’t the case, so it must be something she is relearning. It must not be the kissing that’s new, but the bite behind it. Fleur uses her teeth and her tongue and knocks Tonks back onto the bed so hard Tonks exhales with a big puff of breath.

Fleur climbs on top of her, almost clumsily. She pushes her hands into Tonks’ hair and pulls.

Tonks gasps. Fleur tugs again and Tonks lets out a little moan.

“I want to bite you.” Fleur’s throaty voice is breathless and she looks a little wild, a little startled by the need evident in her clenching fingers and flushed cheeks. “Can I bite you?”

“Yeah,” Tonks says, “yeah, show me your teeth—”

Fleur bites down at the juncture of Tonks’ neck and shoulder with a red animal ferocity Tonks hadn’t known was boiling inside of her, and Tonks feels the pain as proof that Fleur, that both of them, can still fight back.

Fleur asks before taking off Tonks’ shirt. She’s left little red rings of teethmarks on Tonk’s collarbone; she feels like a wolf who has just made her first kill.

“Please,” Tonks says, their voice a little strained. “Yeah, please.”

The two of them fumble till Tonks is leaning back on their elbows and Fleur can tug the shirt over their head. Tonks is watching Fleur, eyes fixed on her face, as Fleur puts her hands on Tonks’ chest.

On impulse, Fleur digs her fingernails in and scratches down between Tonks’ nipples to their flat belly.

Tonks cries out.

“Good?” Fleur asks, breathless with how good it feels for her.

“Yes,” Tonks says. “Yes. Bite—bite my—my nipples—?”

Fleur bends her head like an animal over its prey and takes Tonk’s little nipple in between her teeth and bites.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Tonks mutters quickly as Fleur pulls at their nipple with her teeth. “Oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck…”

Tonks’ babbling sends heat rushing into Fleur’s cunt. She’s slippery wet. She didn’t know she could feel like this, nearly out of control, all sharp claws and teeth, just taking what she wants. She grinds against Tonks’ leg, cunt tingling with the pressure.

“Do you want to—” she gasps. “Pants—do you want them on, or…?”

Tonks squeezes their eyes shut. “Off,” they say. “Off, but—but you should know—”

“Do you think I care what’s down there?” Fleur says, her voice almost harsh with need. “I just want to—I want to fuck you, oh my god—”

Her head spins. She sits back, gasping for air. It’s the active verb that does it, _fuck_, not _be fucked _or _get fucked _or even the mutual _let’s fuck_. That particular sentence structure overwhelms her to the point of feeling faint.

“You’re all right,” Tonks says, and their hands are on Fleur’s bare head, gripping her naked scalp. “You’re all right. You can fuck me.”

Fleur nods, gulping down a lungful of air. Tonks has red teethmarks around their nipples and scratch marks down their flat chest and their hands feel so fucking good and strange and terrifying on Fleur’s bald head. She can fuck them. She can fuck them.

Fleur pulls down Tonks’ trousers and pants and that’s far less of a jumping-off-a-cliff moment for Tonks than their shirt was, they know what this is like even if Fleur doesn’t—does she?—knows the wet hot slipperiness of their swollen cunt. Fleur has a moment of hesitation—maybe this is her first time—and then ducks her head down and licks a wet stripe between Tonks’ legs.

Tonks shouts. Fleur’s eyes flash and she licks again. She’s crouched on all fours over Tonks, feral, mouth dripping. _Beautiful _is a far cry from what Fleur looks like now. Tonks isn’t sure there’s a word for what Fleur looks like now, all sharp-limbed and predatory.

“I want to fuck you,” Fleur gasps out again.

“Yes,” Tonks says fervently. Their cunt is pulsing. They run a hand down their own chest and feel a deep shiver inside them. “Yes, however you want.”

Fleur scrambles at her trousers and kicks them off, her pants with them. She still has silvery hair down there, in the V above her cunt. Tonks swallows.

Fleur straddles Tonks. She lowers her body down and adjusts, grunting with annoyance until she gets the angle just right. Their cunts line up, as close as they can manage. Tonks feels the shock of Fleur’s hot wetness against their own.

Fleur thrusts. She grunts and adjusts again. She lowers herself a little more and rests the weight of her pelvis on Tonks’. She moves. Back and forth, over Tonks. Fast, and hard.

Fucking Tonks.

Normally this isn’t how Tonks has sex, with men or women or anyone, lying flat on their back and getting fucked. But there’s something so mesmerizing about Fleur right now, the newfound surety of her body as she learns to move like this. Tonks feels like they’re witnessing some sort of sacred initiation, a violent bloody thrusting out into the sun.

Fleur’s groaning, now, loud, abandoned, the sound deep in her chest. She thrusts wildly, not every thrust landing home for Tonks, but that’s fine, that’s fine, let Fleur spread her wet all over Tonks’ thighs and pubic hair and the tender skin at the top of their legs. Fleur’s heaving great loud breaths, eyes screwed shut, and Tonks rides it out. Fleur pushes down, a few short sharp thrusts more, and then she shouts, legs tensing up, cunt frantically rubbing against Tonks’. She comes and comes and comes, and there’s nothing graceful or elegant about it. Sweat shines on her bald head and her mouth is wide, wide open.

Finally she falls down onto Tonks, her weight heavy on Tonks’ body, shivers coursing through her now and then. She breathes hard into Tonks’ shoulder. Tonks puts their arms around her and squeezes tight.

“Oh my god,” says Fleur eventually, and, with a wince, rolls off of Tonks. She seizes up again, briefly, and her hand goes between her legs, palm pressing down to stem the aftershocks or encourage them, Tonks isn’t sure.

Tonks feels a little frantic by now. They’re ready to be finished if that’s what Fleur needs, but their cunt is still hot, little shocks of arousal shooting all the way to their toes.

“Can I…” they say, and Fleur meets their gaze, her eyes still a bit glazed over. “Can I touch myself?”

Fleur groans. “God. Yes. If that’s what you want?”

Tonks nods, then thinks, _why the actual fuck not_, and asks, “Bite my nipples while I do it?”

Fleur scrambles for Tonks’ chest and her mouth closes down: a hard suck, and then the pinpricks of teeth.

Tonks slips two fingers inside their cunt and moves them against their clit, letting the sensation of Fleur’s teeth wash over them. They’re usually the loud one when it comes to sex, but for some reason this time they come with only a long, high-pitched whine.

Tonks pokes around Shell Cottage as Fleur makes them tea. They’ve been here before, when Bill lived here. They run their finger over the lip of a fine china bowl, one of a set patterned with little gold roses, and wonder how much of the flowers and the froth Fleur will want to keep.

“It’s ready,” Fleur says, and Tonks joins her at the table. Tonks sips too soon and burns their mouth.

“Do you think I should pierce my nose?” Fleur asks after a few minutes.

Tonks raises their eyebrows. “Definitely.”

“My mum will hate it.”

Tonks shrugs. “You’ll love it, so.”

“Oh,” Fleur says. “My mum hating it isn’t really a drawback.”

That startles a laugh out of Tonks.

“I’ll go with you,” they offer, after sipping their tea for a bit. “To get it pierced. If you want.”

Fleur smiles. Her smile used to seem so dazzling to Tonks, too dazzling to be real. Now Tonks only sees the sharp teeth behind it.

“I’d like that,” Fleur says.

“Anytime,” says Tonks. “We can go anytime.” _We can go anywhere anytime_, she doesn’t say, but she thinks it pretty hard, and Fleur smiles.


End file.
